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She wiped away a tear with her knuckle. “I’m a wreck. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and the worst is yet to come.”“But you did it.”“I don’t want to go back to the room. I might just sleep out here. I can’t face him.”“I’ll stay with you. I can get a blanket.”“I think I want to be alone.”“If that’s what you want, I’ll get you a blanket and let you be alone.”“I don’t know what I want. I don’t know anything.”I leaned forward and put my arms around her and lifted her so we could hug and not talk or think. She wrapped her arms around me and we embraced tenderly. I moved my hands to her shoulders and held her head to my chest, just wanting to soothe her.Suddenly we heard a sound at the other end of the pool. We were in the shadow of a nearby tree so we could see him, but he could not see us. “It’s Fred. He must be looking for me.” We lay perfectly still hoping he would not come our way. We watched him looking in all directions. He walked from one side of the pool to the. Something about the satins and nylonsand even the fine cottons seemed softer and nicer - somehow silkier -than any of my clothes. I began noticing how their dresses and skirtsswayed and moved, the gentle rustle of their soft petticoats againsttheir stockinged legs. It seemed a world that was denied me. Then oneday I was alone in the house and heard it start to rain. I knew thewashing was on the line and I'd get moaned at if I let it get wet so Ihurried out to gather it into a basket and bring it indoors. Even in therush my fingers lingered over the soft silky fabrics, the shiny cups ofthe bras, the gossamer of the nylon stockings, the delicate lightness ofthe skirts and blouses. The direct comparison as I unpegged my Dad's andmy clothes was one of coarseness and heavyweights. As soon as I gotinside the rain really came down hard and made me feel alone in my ownspecial world and I was suddenly confident to pick out and examine eachand every piece of feminine clothing in detail. Whilst.
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